Starcrossed Hearts

by Star Crossed Hearts (lit)

  Jessica stayed in the car while Wesley made the call from a pay phone on the front of the market. She could feel her stomach churning again, and she struggled to get out of the car and enter the market.

  Wesley slammed the phone down. "It was busy, damn it," he said, too loudly, following her into the store. "And where the hell do you think you’re going, kitten?" He grabbed her roughly by the forearm.

  The shop owner said nothing, watching them through his lowered eyelashes, noting the marks on Jessica’s face and wrists.

  "Do you have…a restroom, sir?" she asked softly.

  The proprietor shook his head indifferently.

  "I am ill, sir, and I would rather use your commode than your candy rack," she continued, holding her stomach, still speaking in a low and soft tone.

  At this, he motioned silently toward the back.

  "Thank you." She started for the door marked "Employees Only" and Wesley let go of her arm.

  "Don’t screw around, understand?"

  Jessica ignored him and kept walking. Wesley toured the small store, the shopkeeper’s eyes riveted to him the entire time.

  "Gimme one of those frozen slushy things," Wesley demanded, approaching the cash register.

  The proprietor pointed to the "self-serve" sign over the machine. As Wesley turned, he spied the gun in Wesley’s belt. Silently he pressed a button under the counter.

  Mac opened the rear door to the store slowly and carefully, quietly stealing inside with Dane following close behind. They hid in the shadows as someone emerged from the tiny lavatory near the back door. At the sight of Jessica’s pale, bruised face, Mac reached from the storage room and grabbed her, quickly covering her mouth with his hand and turning her face towards his for her quick recognition. Tears of relief flooded her eyes; tears of outrage came to his as he wordlessly examined her.

  "He’s going to pay for this," Mac whispered icily.

  "What next, Doc?" Dane licked his lips nervously, eyeing Jessica himself, a touch of melancholy in his gaze.

  Before Mac could answer, Wesley’s voice boomed toward them from the store.

  "JESSICA! Shake a leg, baby. We gotta go!"

  "We can take him, Dane. Put Jessie in the truck. I’ll stall him, I’ll put him in position. You come around in the front and back me up." He passed Jessie from his arms to Dane, who was now looking uncertain.

  Jessica grabbed Mac’s arm. "No--Mac, he has a gun. He’ll kill you both. Let’s just get out of here," she begged.

  "And live in fear that this will happen again? No way. Go." Dane walked Jessica quietly out the back door.

  Mac crept toward the door into the market. It was a hinged, cafe style door, and he peeked over the top looking for Wesley, who was thumbing through a magazine at the newsstand. Mac took a deep breath and pushed open the doors.

  The shopkeeper looked up. He started to protest about Mac’s use of the back door, but closed his mouth after interpreting the look on Mac’s face.

  Mac strode to the newsstand and stood next to Wesley, who turned to glance at him before looking back at his magazine. There was no recognition.

  "I’m going to give you a choice." Mac’s voice was as cold as steel and just as hard. "You can hand me your gun and sit down on the floor, or you can try to kill me before I kill you."

  Wesley dropped the magazine and looked again at Mac, who was removing his sunglasses. The surprise in his eyes turned to a wild, excited smile. "Well, Mr. B--M--W! How nice of you to show up! You got some cash for me?"

  "The only thing I have for you is this." Mac’s right fist slammed into Wesley’s gut and Mac felt ribs cracking under his knuckles. The punch landed Wesley against the front door jamb, and as Mac shook out his stinging hand, Wesley reached for the gun in his belt.

  The shopkeeper went down behind the counter. Wesley extended both arms, leveling the pistol point blank at Mac, standing not five yards in front of him. The wine and Mac’s assault had left him wobbly, but he fired off two rounds in Mac’s direction just as Dane leapt onto his back from behind, wrestling him to the floor. Mac then rushed him from the front. His eyes wide and his hands shaking, Dane grasped the gun and tossed it across the room, then deftly pinned Wesley’s arms behind his back as he struggled.

  Mac was blind to everything except Wesley’s hateful figure, his fury driven by the memory of the marks on Jessica’s arms and face. Again and again he struck Wesley until his fists were bloodied and his target fell unconscious in Dane’s grip. Panting, he was now remotely aware of police officers filling the small store, and of being helped to his feet by Dane. Dazed, disoriented, he looked around at the shattered frozen food doors and exploded potato chip bags. And then he noticed the officers’ drawn revolvers aimed at his chest.

  In disbelief Mac watched as Dane Pierce slowly raised his hands and placed them behind the back of his head. He suddenly realized that the cops were demanding the same of him. The shopkeeper was, of course, telling his version of the shooting, and still another uniformed officer was leading Jessica into the front parking lot.

  Outside, they were searched and questioned. Another police vehicle arrived, this one unmarked. The man behind the wheel flashed his badge to the Ventura County deputies, then walked to where Wesley Elliot was just coming around.

  "Denehy. LAPD. This man is wanted for kidnapping, assault, and, it would appear, attempted murder." He turned to Mac and Dane, now handcuffed and leaning against the patrol car. "These gentlemen are not a threat. Please release them."

  "Thank you," Mac murmured, rubbing his wrists. He looked around for Jessica and found her, still being interrogated. An ambulance was speeding through the intersection and into the small parking lot.

  "Hey, we did it man." Dane extended his hand in an offer of brotherhood. Swallowing hard, still breathless, Mac nodded and clapped his hand onto Dane’s.

  "Is she okay?"

  "She’s okay. The ambulance is just routine. Look’s like you need a Band-Aid or two, though." Dane pointed to a three inch gaping wound on Mac’s bare shoulder, where a bullet had burned past him. Blood was running to the floor.

  "Whoa…" Mac grimaced. "I didn’t even know."

  "What a hero! Too bad the cameras weren’t rolling!" Dane joked.

  "No, you were the hero, man."

  They watched together as Wesley was handcuffed and, now semi-conscious, was read his rights.

  Unable to wait another moment, Mac rushed to Jessica. They embraced for an eternity, not speaking, until Dane finally tapped on Mac’s good shoulder. "The medics are here. You have to give her up for a few minutes."

  While Mac and Jessica were being tended by the paramedics, Dane called Roxie and relayed the news.

  Jessica watched sadly as they ushered Wesley into a patrol car. He gave her a level stare before ducking into the backseat, and for just a millisecond in time, Jessica thought she saw a glimmer of sanity and remorse. She leaned tiredly against Mac and waited until the police had enough information to release them.

  The three pressed into the cab of the truck and Mac drove back to Santa Paula. Jessica was asleep almost immediately, leaving both men to their own thoughts. A fog was just settling on the sleepy little town as Mac eased the truck against the curb behind the BMW. Mac handed Dane a set of keys.

  "Ah, gee, I was hoping to get the truck," Dane lamented comically.

  "Just take it home. I’ll get it later."

  Dane looked at Jessica’s sleeping form as she lay limply against Mac’s bandaged shoulder.

  "Hurt much?"

  "Naw. They shot some ‘controlled substances’ into me, I think."

  Dane now looked down where Jessica’s small hand was folded into his. He lifted it to his lips, his eyes locked onto Mac’s.

  "Take care of her, all right?"

  Mac nodded silently and Dane got out, walking around to the street. Mac held out his hand through the truck’s window, and Dane took it.

  "You saved my life today," Mac said simply. "I’m in your
debt."

  "No sweat, man," Dane answered, squeezing Mac’s hand. "Anyway, I did it for Jessie, not you, asshole." Green eyes smiled at brown.

  Mac returned the smile. He would not soon forget Dane Pierce’s actions of this day.

  ~ * ~

  As the tired rumble of the Ford’s engine died away in the MacKendall driveway, Jessica opened her eyes. Unseeing at first, she sat bolt upright until she felt the comforting reassurance of Mac’s arm around her.

  "We’re home, baby."

  Inside, Jessie peered around the house with sullen eyes as Mac stood by.

  "Don’t suppose you’re hungry," he murmured, watching her eyes for some light to return.

  "No. I just need a shower."

  "Sure. You need any help?" Mac touched her lightly on the shoulder and she turned a weak smile his way.

  "No. I’ll be fine. I just need…a few minutes."

  He watched her walk into the hall leading to the bedrooms. The sight of her cotton dress, so sassy and attractive yesterday--indeed, he had helped her put it back on in his dressing room!--now stained with blood and wine, made him ill. He leaned against the kitchen counter, pressing his eyes into his hands, and the vision of Wesley Elliot returned. The anger threatened to boil up again, the same consuming rage that had driven his fists into Wesley’s body, alarming even Mac himself by its intensity. Quickly he opened his eyes and stared at the backs of his hands. His fingers still bore traces of Wesley’s blood.

  ~ * ~

  Jessica made the dress into a ball that fit perfectly into the bathroom wastebasket. The water was hot, needed to be hot to purge away the nastiness, the poison that covered her body.

  When at last she felt clean, she went back into the bedroom that had been hers for two weeks, before her trip to the Caribbean. She stood before the great mahogany dresser that graced the wall opposite the four poster bed and pulled open the heavy middle drawer. Of course, her clothes were still here, undisturbed, absorbing the fresh scent of the elegant camphor drawer lining. She pulled out a long, soft, white T-shirt and slipped it over her head.

  She didn’t bother drying her hair. Approaching the bed, she reached for the corner of the plush patchwork comforter, but hesitated. Listening, she could hear the shower running in the master bathroom. Instead of pulling the covers down, she let her hand drag along the comforter, pretending to straighten its already smooth appearance. Then quietly she crept through the adjoining doorway.

  His bed was already turned down. Suddenly, it made no sense to her at all to sleep anywhere else. There was a tiny lamp on the nightstand that resembled a candle, and this she left burning. Curling her knees to her chest, she closed her eyes.

  It was not long before he was beside her, taking obvious care not to disturb her sleep. But Jessica reached for him in the darkness.

  "I wish there was something I could say," he began, tenderly pushing her damp locks away from her forehead.

  "I can say something. Something like--thank you for saving me."

  "You must have been so scared." Mac made no attempt to disguise the anguish in his own voice.

  "All I kept thinking about was us, about how wonderful everything has been, how we’re finally together, and he, he, he was going to destroy it all…" A sob broke into her words. "And then, when you came, I was so afraid he would hurt you."

  "Shhh. It’s over now. He’ll never hurt us again."

  "But he tried to kill you! How could I have lived with that?"

  "He didn’t." Mac stopped stroking her face and took a deep breath, which he let out slowly, laboriously. "Do you understand that there were no choices for me?" His voice was soft but strong with conviction.

  Jessica frowned at him in the darkness, trying to read his eyes and make sense of his words.

  "Do you understand that my love for you is far greater than any fear, any risk I might have to face?"

  Jessica was again rendered speechless by the tightness in her throat. She tried to whisper his name, and he pulled her slowly and gently against his chest where she began to sob.

  He made no attempt to quiet her grief, running his hands up and down her back with long, loving caresses. And when the sounds of her suffering finally faded away, when her veins again began to pump warmth and balance back into her body and mind, she allowed herself to bask in the security of his arms.

  "You must be exhausted," she whispered at last.

  "I am close to comatose."

  "Before you go to sleep, may I ask you one thing?"

  "Anything, my darling. Anything at all."

  "Did you, a few minutes ago," she paused, her voice small and childlike. "Did you really say you loved me?"

  She felt rather than heard him catch his breath ever so slightly, and she held her own in anticipation of his response.

  "Was that me?" He kissed the top of her head. Then, lifting her chin to peer into her eyes, his tone became serious. "I love you more than anyone ever has, or anyone ever will. And I should have told you that a long, long time ago." A bemused smile graced his lips and he kissed her on the nose. "But you want to talk about scared?"

  ~ * ~

  Jessica heard the phone ringing but refused to open her eyes. Still captive by some rapturous dream, she slipped back into the arms of sleep, comfortable, protected. And after an unknown time had passed, minutes, possibly hours, she reluctantly stirred.

  He was still beside her. Without opening her eyes to the sunlight that peeked through the slender gap in the draperies, Jessica reached out with her fingertips, touching his bare chest with delight. Slowly she traced a path up to his throat, his jaw, his cheeks. She felt him smile. She smiled back.

  "This is nice, huh?" he whispered.

  "Mmmm."

  "I like going to sleep knowing where you are, safe and warm," he continued. Jessica nodded.

  "I like waking up beside you." Mac leaned close to nuzzle her ear. "And I like the feel of those sexy legs wrapped around mine."

  "I thought those sexy legs were yours," she whispered back, starting to giggle.

  "Could be," he responded, now sliding his leg along hers. "So what do you think?"

  She opened her eyes now, craving a view of his face.

  "About what?"

  "About waking up with me every day?"

  Jessica gazed at her roommate-turned-lover with new affection. Suddenly consumed with emotion, she recalled his loving admission of the night before. The worst day of her life was rapidly becoming one of the best. He really wanted her to move in with him.

  "You’re sure?" she asked, selfishly wanting him to repeat his request. She was already certain of his sincerity.

  "I never wanted it any other way."

  Carefully she threaded her arms around his neck, mindful of the bandages covering his shoulder. She kissed his cheek warmly, then whispered into his ear.

  "I thought you’d never ask."

  Part Six: Changes

  Thirteen

  Misconceptions

  It had been four weeks since the brutal interruption to Jessica’s life, and things were finally beginning to settle into place for her. Mac had her car and her few belongings picked up from the cabin, neither of them wanting to set foot there again.

  Although Jessica wanted to rush into another project, to get "back to normal" after her ordeal, Mac warned against it and tried to keep her from accepting too much responsibility, too soon. So she sat and read scripts, spent hours completing Megan’s room, and occasionally sat with Roxanne while she sewed.

  They had let the cabin go and Jessica had taken over as mistress of Mac’s home, organizing and directing the completion of the renovation and decorating. She kept meticulous records of the progress and detailed out activities on the kitchen calendar.

  The calendar fascinated Mac. He had always considered himself organized, but only to the degree of a wallet bulging with small slips of paper bearing important notes that were virtually impossible to read. Here, on the thirty-one days that comprised May,
Jessica had mapped out their every move. And one such entry gave him pause. On May 27th, Jessica had written "Chrissie."

  Thoughtful, he picked up the phone, glancing out the kitchen window for Jessica’s car. She was off on a shopping run, and due home any moment.

  "Roxie? Mac. Fine, babe, listen. Got a question for you. Isn’t Jessie’s birthday this month?"

  "Uh…so it is, I’d forgotten. In about two weeks; May 27th. Why?"

  "Because you and I are going to throw her a party."

  "Wow, Mac, that’s a great idea!"

  "Can I count on you to help?"

  "You name it." They chatted for a half hour, planning a big event to celebrate Jessica’s 29th birthday, complete with live entertainment and dancing. "She will be knocked out, Mac. She’ll love it."

  "I gotta go. She just drove up. We’ll talk later."

  ~ * ~

  Jessica stumbled in the front door, unable to see over the heavy, over-full bag in her arms.

  "Here, let me get that," Mac offered, taking the bag to the table. "Wow, what’s in here?"

  "Window hardware, for Meggie’s room, and bookends, and a picture frame, and a mirror." She plopped exhaustedly into a chair. "I’m wiped. Would you mind if we didn’t go out?"

  He smiled and massaged her shoulders. "Mind? No, that’s okay. I’ll just open a can of Spam." Jessica made a face and he chuckled. "I’ll make something. You…go do girl things."

  At dinner, she didn’t eat much.

  "Guess I should have made the Spam," he ventured.

  "I’m just not feeling too well. I think I’m getting a cold or something."

  A week later Roxie called and declared they needed a "beach day."

  "Can’t do it. I’m sick," Jessica complained.

  "Too sick for the beach? What’s wrong?"

  "Flu. I’ve had it a week, can’t shake it."

  "What kind of flu?"

  "Nothing will stay in my stomach, Doctor Boudreau."

  "Jess, a week’s a long time. Go to the doctor. Maybe they can give you something." Roxie’s voice held concern, but Jessica dismissed it.